


Black Rose

by nellasera



Series: Dramione One Shots [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Attempted Kidnapping, Bittersweet Ending, Dark Draco, F/M, Forced Marriage, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Kidnapping, Kinda, Minor Violence, Though Not Toward Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:22:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24271267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellasera/pseuds/nellasera
Summary: The ceremony was brief and terrifying. It took place in the massive hall of the Manor, where the Lord ruled over his subjects, and it was decorated with black, burning roses. But no matter how long they burned, they did not shrivel and wither.Like me, thought Hermione, hopelessly, an acidic taste in her mouth. Like the Lady. We’ll live and live and live down here, no matter how much we would rather die.Or: Hermione is married to the future Lord of the Underworld, Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Dramione One Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993333
Comments: 22
Kudos: 201





	Black Rose

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is lol. I took a break from working on my WIP's, wanted to do something Hades/Persephone-ish, and this is what happened. I wanted it to be 1k or less. Whoops. I just wrote it and posted so hopefully it is mostly coherent.

Draco Malfoy’s eyes were so cold.

Looking at him was like dragging an ice cube down her spine.

His father was charming at the events hosted here, in their dark Manor in the Underworld. Lord Lucius Malfoy was terrifying in his own way but he at least gave small smiles, even if his eyes were always dancing with cruelty. He would tuck his Queen Narcissa closer and indulge his subjects.

Draco Malfoy's pale arm came around Hermione’s waist every time a guest came to congratulate them on their marriage and simper over her beauty and the life in her rosy cheeks. He never smiled.

Hermione was offered refreshments. Made just for her, they told her. Seeing as she was alive.

She couldn’t bring herself to drink anything. She was anticipating the night ahead.

* * *

Hermione Granger didn’t _really_ belong here, because she wasn’t dead.

When she had first arrived here, having woken abruptly lying on a bed in her quarters, servants seemed to have sensed it and entered almost immediately to help clean her up. They had told her that she had been chosen to be future Lady to the heir.

“You mean I’ve been kidnapped,” she corrected, pursing her lips and clenching her hands to fists.

In order to produce heirs, the Lord of the Underworld needed a woman that had not yet passed over. Someone alive. Apparently reproduction didn’t work if they were _both_ dead, and Lords were only allowed to rule for a certain amount of time. They told her how long, but she didn’t know the word, didn’t understand the unit of measure used here. It was much different than what the living used.

Hermione supposed when you were immortal, things naturally were measured differently.

Lady Narcissa was the only other living creature here besides Hermione, but she did nothing to help ease her transition. The Lady did not find Hermione to speak with her or give counsel, and over time, as Hermione watched her, she saw that while Narcissa was still very much alive—one did not age here, and she would live forever—her eyes were dead.

They had both been chosen, and taken, and here they both were.

Captive.

* * *

The first time Hermione spoke with Draco Malfoy—her husband to be—she tried to rush forward and attack him the instant he stepped into her quarters. He had her immobilized with one sharp snap of his fingers and she had frozen, crumpling to the ground.

“Do not attempt to harm me,” he said coldly, face black with rage. "It will not work." And she gazed into those silver eyes, at the sharp edges of his jaw and his face, and she felt a sudden, horrible helplessness.

You can’t kill someone who is already dead.

You can’t kill someone when their father controls death anyway.

* * *

One day some time after that, he brought her some books about the Underworld.

“You like to read,” he said, his face blank and unyielding as he observed her. “Perhaps you’d like some information on your new home.” He turned and left without another word.

Eagerly, Hermione dove into the books. She didn’t particularly care how he knew that about her. Probably had done some research before kidnapping her. She had been going mad here, with nothing to do. She had been told she must keep to her room until the wedding ceremony, when she could finally be publicly seen beside her husband and celebrated as the future Lady.

* * *

Hermione had no idea how long she had been here before she was married off to him.

Time was no longer _time_ in the Underworld.

The ceremony was brief and terrifying. It took place in the massive hall of the Manor, where the Lord ruled over his subjects, and it was decorated with black, burning roses. But no matter how long they burned, they did not shrivel and wither.

 _Like me_ , thought Hermione, hopelessly, an acidic taste in her mouth. _Like_ _the Lady_. _We’ll live and live and live down here, no matter how much we would rather die._

Lord Lucius was there, watching with his cold smile, and the living Lady Narcissa was there too, mostly expressionless, her arm looped through Lucius'. Thousands of subjects were crowded to watch the union that would signify the era of the new rulers.

Hermione was not asked if she would take Draco Malfoy, heir to the Underworld, as her husband. It was merely pronounced that it was so. When he leaned forward to pull away her thin black veil and kiss her, she was extremely tempted to bite at him.

But she knew it wouldn’t hurt him. It wouldn't do a thing.

So she just stood rigidly when he kissed her. He was surprisingly gentle, and he didn't drag it out. He hadn’t kissed her before now. Perhaps it was against one of the many rules here that Hermione was still learning. Draco Malfoy only touched her lips very softly with his cold ones, fingers lingering carefully on her jaw, before releasing her and stepping back. There was raucous applause and cheers. It was done.

Hermione was officially a Lady of the Underworld.

For a split second, Draco’s eyes changed: the first sign of life she’d ever seen in them.

They blazed molten silver for a few moments as he looked at her; then the light died again.

* * *

As important as heirs were, her new husband did not seem particularly rushed to get to making one.

That night, as he led her away from the celebrations by the crook of her elbow, the dread began swallowing her whole. She had been shoving off what all of this meant for her, but now there was no avoiding it. The longer she walked, the more she wondered if death might be better. Her life had been stolen from her. But she could at least have death, couldn't she? Not this awful, awful immortality as a prisoner?

Perhaps she could get him to kill her if she was insolent.

She was thinking so furiously that she hadn’t noticed that he had led her to her quarters and not his, and now they were paused outside the door.

“I hate you,” said Hermione finally, giving him a vicious look. “I _hate_ you. Just kill me.”

A shadow flickered across his eyes. And then he just gave her a mocking smirk. “No. Now sleep well, my dear wife. We have matters of rule to attend to tomorrow. Your first day as my Lady.”

He pointed at the door, arching an eyebrow.

Hermione didn’t understand. Was he not going to…?

When it became clear that he wasn’t going to be forcing her into anything tonight and just kept standing impatiently at the door, waiting for her to go in, she slipped inside without another glance at him and slammed the door behind her.

She slumped against the wood and sank to the ground, her wedding dress pooled around her.

* * *

Hermione had thought it was out of cruelty—and perhaps it partially had been—but her initial isolation in her quarters had also been a safety issue.

As one of the only living beings here, she was a particular target. Others wanted her for themselves. The Malfoys ruled a part of the Underworld that still contained dark souls, though not dark enough to be punished eternally, not as dark as those that Hermione sometimes saw her husband sentencing away to a different part of the Underworld ruled by a man named “Tom Riddle.”

When that happened, they fell to their knees and screamed and begged.

Draco just watched with no emotion in his eyes as they were dragged off, never to be seen again.

Most of Hermione’s days consisted of exactly this. She sat in the throne beside his and silently watched as he pronounced judgments or punishments. He was swift and cruel with those he punished. He sent many, many subjects away from this part of the Underworld.

Every morning while taking their seats in their thrones, Draco took her hand in hers. His cold fingers wrapped around her warm ones, sometimes stroking her hand with his thumb, or tracing patterns on her wrist and forearm while his subjects spoke.

In between matters of ruling, while waiting for the next subjects to enter the throne room, Hermione would mutter that she hated him. That she’d rather die than be with her kidnapper.

Other than verbally refusing to kill her, he said nothing else when she did this.

Hermione wasn’t sure how long this went on in her concept of time. Months, perhaps? Either way, every night when he walked her back to her quarters after another tedious day of meals and councils and judgments, a tight ball of anxiety would form in her stomach. She would think that surely it would be _that_ night that he would want to make his heir.

But no. It never was. It went on ages and ages like this.

He hadn’t even kissed her since the wedding.

Hermione fully understood the danger of being a rare living creature when a servant appeared, asking if she would like to talk a walk before her royal duties that day. And because it sounded more appealing than the usual monotonous routine, she agreed.

She shouldn’t have.

Once they had gone a few corridors, a subject was waiting for her, a glint in his eye. “Excellent,” he breathed greedily to the servant. “You shall be rewarded. I shall take my young, living prize far away, where the Lord can’t find her.” He began stalking forward, dark eyes flashing. Hermione stumbled backward in horror, but the servant gripped her arm tight, preventing her escape, and the man reached to grip her wrist, dipping his head to her throat and inhaling. “Oh… _life_ ,” he rasped. “That’s fucking _delicious_ , my dear.” His eyes glinted at her again. “Come,” he said roughly, and then he grabbed the back of her neck and began forcing her forward.

Hermione wasn’t sure how it happened, but the subject was thrown off her, landing against the wall with a sickening crunch. Whirling, she saw Draco striding down the corridor, eyes full of fire and expression positively feral. His fingertips were glowing.

“You will _never_ touch her,” he snarled, and then he snapped his fingers and the man’s neck crunched. It did not, of course, kill him, but he let out a guttural cry of pain. When Draco snapped them again, the servant that had been trying to escape suddenly froze, much the same way he had frozen Hermione the first time they had interacted. “You will be judged,” he said, snapping again, and they both disappeared into thin air. Hermione just stared, head spinning.

Draco swept forward and took her face in his hands. His eyes were… _alive_. They were flaming with fury as he aggressively scanning her face. “Have you been harmed?” he asked finally.

All Hermione could do was gape at him, heart still pounding from the adrenaline. She should be afraid. She had watched him sweep forward and snap a man’s neck without a second thought.

But she wasn’t.

How long had she been here? He had still never hurt her.

“No,” she said.

His thumbs moved over her cheekbones. Uncharacteristically gentle. “Do not leave your quarters without me, my wife. Trust no one. There are those that oppose me. There are those that want to take you away for themselves or harm you.”

Hermione pursed her lips, feeling a sudden rush of anger. “Like _you_ took me away? Like you, who condemned me to this horrible, cold, depressing place where I have no freedoms?”

Draco’s eyes flashed, and then they went back to normal. Withdrawn and empty. His hands fell away from her face and to his sides. “I will take you to your quarters now,” he said. His voice was like ice. “You will be safe there. I will add more special magic that protects you, and I will not allow any servants to attend to you until I am one hundred percent certain they are trustworthy. You must rest there today while I find and punish those that seek to take you.” His face twisted with rage, but then calmed again. “I will make sure that you have more activities to do while there.”

She argued with him. Viciously. The entire time they walked back, she argued, but he kept his hand firmly on her arm and guided her right to her door, pushing her inside and shutting it.

* * *

Hermione could feel herself wasting away.

She had more activities to do while in her quarters. She got out every day to rule and attend feasts on the arm of her husband.

But she felt herself wasting away regardless.

How long had she been here?

Too long. It felt like forever.

* * *

One morning, she was woken abruptly by someone shaking her.

“Hermione,” said the voice, urgent and right in her ear, and she jolted up with a gasp.

“ _Draco_!” she screeched, reaching out in a blind panic. Someone was here. In her quarters. They had somehow broken past the magical protection and they were going to harm her, and she couldn’t kill them. Only Draco, Lord of the Underworld, could end them properly. And he would. For her. If there was one thing she knew, it was that he was possessive of his treasure, even if he didn’t use it for himself.

Hermione didn’t understand him.

“It’s me. Shh. It’s alright. Get up now.” Her eyes focused and she saw Draco leaning over her.

“What’s happening?” Her eyes were darting around in panic.

“You are leaving.” He carefully helped her to her feet and she clung to him for balance.

“L—leaving?” A lump rose in Hermione’s throat. “I—if you intend to send me to Tom Riddle, please, if you have any mercy in you, just kill me. Kill me now, and do it quickly.”

“No.” Draco’s voice wavered. It was so slight that she barely heard it. “No, Hermione. I am sending you back to your life. You are leaving the Underworld.”

“What?” Hermione blinked rapidly. Her brain was still waking up. Perhaps this was a dream.

“I am getting you out. You must hurry. There isn’t much time before it is discovered.”

Hermione scrambled to her feet, deciding that if it was a dream, then at least she could escape in it, and she’d better not take the chance in case it wasn’t one. “Before what is discovered?” she asked quickly, as Draco came forward to tuck a cloak over her shoulders.

“My father is gone. I have ended him. He has gone to Tom. He is eternally a prisoner.” Hermione felt a swooping in her stomach as she noted how casually he spoke of turning on his own father. “Many that would support him over me are also gone. I have been sending away those suspected of not wanting my rule.” His eyes blazed. “I will make my own rules now. No heirs. Just me.”

“You're really setting me free?” Hermione could hardly dare to believe it. "I thought I couldn't go back to my life. I thought I could only die."

“My father kidnapped you,” he said. “Not me. I wanted no marriage. No heir. You can go back. I am setting you free.”

“But…why?” she whispered. “Don’t you like to keep your treasures?”

Draco Malfoy was cruel. She knew and had seen that. While he had never been that way to her, he was cold, dark, and dangerous with everyone else. He was also possessive. Lord of the Underworld.

But suddenly, his face softened as he looked at her. “It is true that I treasure you,” he said, reaching up to touch her cheek. “And you are miserable here. You should never have been here. You must go. You and my mother both. She and another man are waiting in the corridor. This man—Snape—he is loyal to my mother, and to me. He has sworn a vow. He will take you out since I cannot.”

“But will you—will you be—okay?” Hermione stuttered, feeling the strangest urge to cry.

Draco Malfoy leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“I will learn to be,” he murmured, and she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him harder.

“I’m sorry,” she told him after, hands cupped around his neck. “Thank you. I—I won’t forget you.”

A bitter smile ghosted across his face, and he tilted his forehead to hers very briefly. “I have come to truly love you, my dear wife. So go now. Hurry.” He nudged her toward the door, taking her to the man called Snape, who led her and Narcissa safely from the Underworld.

* * *

Hermione sat bolt upright in her bed, panting heavily.

It had felt so real.

Trying to remember details of the dream was like water slipping through her fingers, and more and more slid through the cracks as she concentrated on them. What had it been about? A wedding. She had been kidnapped. There had been—someone. Someone important. They had kissed her.

Her lips were tingling, and she reached up a hand to touch them, bemused.

There was a lingering sadness in her, too. But she couldn’t identify why.

Hermione’s eyes fell on her bedside table as she breathed slowly, trying to calm down from what had been the most vivid dream in her life. She frowned in confusion as her eyes snagged on something lying there.

For the life of her, she couldn’t remember buying a black rose.


End file.
